


Luncheons

by theredhoodie



Series: The Man From Uncle Drabbles [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Post-Movie, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gaby is late to lunch with Illya and she shows up with a flushed face and a large bag slung over her shoulder, Illya has an inkling that something is not as it seems. He tells himself that of course Gaby is also a spy of her own and may have other things to attend to, but that doesn’t make him any less concerned for what these other things are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luncheons

**Author's Note:**

> Such a cute prompt that I couldn't pass up. I know nothing of dancing or ballerinas. Originally posted [here](http://maxrockertansky.tumblr.com/post/128056329623/mostlypoptarts-replied-to-your-post-since-ive).

They are not on a mission, but they are still asked to stay close to one another. Napoleon ignores this request almost immediately and jets off to acquire something illegal that Illya would rather not be involved in.

It feels almost odd not to be in the same building, same room even, as Gaby, but the two of them still see each other every day.

When Gaby is late to lunch with Illya and she shows up with a flushed face and a large bag slung over her shoulder, Illya has an inkling that something is not as it seems. He tells himself that of course Gaby is also a spy of her own and may have other things to attend to, but that doesn’t make him any less concerned for what these other things are.

He should have just asked her what else she was doing, but it didn’t even come to mind, not even as he is trailing her through the city during midmorning. There are many people around, and he doesn’t think she notices him following her. She continues on her way, wrapped in a large sweater with that bag still slung over her shoulder. She steps into a doorway beside a hardware store.

Illya waits until the door closes completely and gives her ten seconds before he steps to the door. There is no sign, and the handle twists when he tries it. He steps out from the chilly morning and is faced with a narrow stairway leading up and then taking a sharp left turn. He walks up them, trying to be quiet, but they creak and groan under his weight with each step.

He comes to a door with a number of etched glass panes in them. He hesitates there. Anything could be on the other side, he can make out nothing but a blurred darkness. There is something that tells him Gaby isn’t in danger and he’s about to leave before he hears her voice speaking in German through the door.

She says something about beginning, but her voice sounds far away.

Not an entirely patient man, Illya pushes open the door. It moves silently, revealing a dimly lit hallway. Like the stairway, it is narrow, and he has to duck under the doorway to step into the corridor. The door latches quietly behind him as music starts, classical and quiet. Walking cautiously down the hall, Illya stops before an open doorway.

Gaby is there, with an older woman, a gramophone in the corner. The room has wide, tall windows at one side, and mirrors on the other.

Gaby is far from danger. She’s dressed in form fitting clothes, her feet in pointed ballet shoes.

Illya tries to hide his surprise.

“This is a private session,” the older woman chirps at him, causing Gaby to turn and see him standing there. She doesn’t say anything, but only looks at him with that look on her face that tries telling him something that is–-and was often-–lost in translation.

“I’m sorry,” Illya returns after an elongated pause. He takes a step back into the hall. He then turns his eyes to Gaby, who is still waiting expectantly for him to say something. “I am sorry I followed you.”

“I knew you were following me,” she says, raising her arms delicately above her head. “Do you want to watch?” Her eyebrows lift ever so slightly in silent suggestion.

Before Illya can even reply, Gaby’s instructor races toward him, clapping her hands together like he is a stray dog she’s trying to scare off.

“No. No men here, no watching. Go, go, shoo!” She then waves her hands at him and plants herself before him.

Illya glances at Gaby to find an amused smile tugging at her lips. He takes another step back, attempting to wrap his mind around this, when Gaby yells after him, “I may be late for lunch again!”


End file.
